


Exposure

by bironic



Category: Stargate Atlantis
Genre: Alternate Universe, Anal Play, Dancing, Dom/sub, Dubious Consent, Exhibitionism, Exposure, Het and Slash, Humiliation, Multi, OT4, Polyamory, Public Nudity, Public Sex, Queer Friendly, Voyeurism, sexual service
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-07-25
Updated: 2010-07-25
Packaged: 2017-10-10 19:29:34
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,823
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/103420
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/bironic/pseuds/bironic
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p><i>These people didn't care tonight that she was the civilian head of the Atlantis mission.</i></p><p>Caldwell enjoys Elizabeth in front of a high-ranking crowd at an SGC banquet.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Exposure

**Author's Note:**

> Takes place in an AU where civilians who contract with the military are assigned a supervisor they're expected to service sexually.
> 
> Written for Porn Battle X. I don't know who left the open-ended Elizabeth/Caldwell prompt, but I dedicate this to sabinelagrande.

Elizabeth had known the evening couldn't finish as smoothly as it had been going so far. In the lull before the dessert course and cigars, when the other officers at their table turned to low conversation with one another or intimate interludes with their assignees, Caldwell stood and extended his hand to her. She took it, and followed him onto the dance floor.

Some of the couples, threesomes and friend pairs were simply dancing. Others were already engaged in more salacious activities. Elizabeth caught sight of Vala Mal Doran sandwiched between Colonels Mitchell and Carter, her hands gripping the backs of their necks as she took turns kissing them. Lieutenant Cadman had Jennifer Keller on her knees and working her mouth hard between Cadman's legs. In the far corner, McKay, Teyla and Ronon formed a complicated, undulating knot around Colonel Sheppard. Elizabeth had long since given up trying to figure out who was servicing whom in that little group and whether Teyla and Ronon were assignees or cultural attachés. Whatever they had going on worked for them.

Caldwell found an open space on the floor next to Major Lorne, who was swaying in Zelenka and Parrish's arms. Caldwell settled the two of them into a classic slow-dance position and said, "Put your hands behind my neck."

Elizabeth complied. A room full of SGC officers and IOA liaisons was no place to act out. These people didn't care tonight that she was the civilian head of the Atlantis mission, and if she misbehaved, Caldwell had told her, he would have to punish her in front of them—if they didn't decide to do it themselves.

He held her to him with a hand spread across her lower back, her breasts pressed to the medals and fastenings on his dress uniform, and as they moved, he maneuvered her so she was straddling his thigh. His erection was evident through his trousers. She did her best to stay close and match his rhythm.

Next thing she knew, his other hand was sliding down and gathering up the bottom of the red cocktail dress he'd given her for tonight's occasion. She flinched away on instinct, but he held her in place and kept pulling up the material. "Stay still," he murmured, and then the skirt was at her hips and he was snaking a hand between her legs from behind. He had told her not to wear underwear, and she felt herself blush and get a little wetter. Everyone who looked their way would be able to see this—see her, see what he was doing to her.

He got a finger up into her, then two. She managed to hold back a whimper but couldn't help hiding her face against his shoulder in some mixture of embarrassment, pride and arousal she didn't want to examine too closely. Then she did whimper, and flinched hard again, when he slicked his thumb along her outer lips and wriggled it into her ass. His thigh was still grinding into her, grinding her into him, and with that thumb inside her she thought she might even be able to orgasm at some point, if that was tonight's game.

Minutes passed in which they danced like that, her ass bared to the crowd she couldn't bear to peek at while he worked at her.

Eventually, he said, "Take your hands away and turn around."

She hesitated, for which she got a vicious shove of his fingers that brought tears to her eyes. She got as far as lowering her hands when he slipped those fingers out, but she still couldn't quite bring herself to turn around and voluntarily display herself to everyone from the waist down.

For that disobedience, Caldwell let go of her, smacked her across the face hard enough to draw attention even over the music, turned her around by the hips so swiftly that she stumbled, and lifted her dress straight up and off.

She made a sound and tried to cover herself as he tossed her clothes toward the wall, but Caldwell got a thigh back between her legs and looped her hands behind his neck again. "Keep them there, or I'll have them bring out one of the whips," he said in her ear.

She kept them there.

People _were_ looking, she found when she darted a glance around the room. And why shouldn't they, she figured they were thinking; there she was before them, a naked civilian being manhandled and aroused for their amusement, the ranking civilian of the Pegasus program reduced to a trembling sexual object. Caldwell was running his hands over her body, showing her off to his colleagues and subordinates and demonstrating his mastery of her to his superiors. Her face stung where he'd hit her; she could feel the blush turning the rest of her face and chest as dark as the mark he'd surely made. When he started rubbing her again, she had to close her eyes to keep from losing it—and to keep them from seeing how much she liked it.

As usual, Caldwell managed to up the ante; he reached down and unfastened his pants, and with a shiver, she wondered whether he was going to screw her right here on the dance floor, or if he merely planned to shove her to her knees and use her mouth.

It took all her willpower not to yell and thrash and make him force her when, taking his fingers off her clit once again, he slid his hand along her inner thigh and lifted her leg high at the knee. They'd stopped any pretense of dancing at this point, which was just as well, since it was hard enough to keep her balance on one leg in three-inch heels; she had to lean back into Caldwell to keep from tipping over, which was surely just what he wanted.

They'd attracted several voyeurs by this point; Elizabeth had to squeeze her eyes shut again when Caldwell spread her open and slid his erection into her. The music, at least, muffled her gasp at the sudden entry, although she was sure their audience could see her reaction just fine even if they couldn't hear it.

And then she was being fucked in the SGC officers' club in front of everyone who cared to watch, her arms raised as though she wanted to show off her breasts to them, her leg held wide to give them an eyeful of the main action. She let her head fall back, let them see her. She told herself it was because the alternative would've earned her at least another slap and likely a whipping, and she liked the skin on her back intact.

Caldwell was pushing into her gently enough that she didn't lose her footing, although it was a close call when he moved the hand resting on her stomach to play with her clit again.

"General Landry's enjoying the view," he informed her, sounding slightly less controlled than the last time he'd spoken. "As is General O'Neill, if the enthusiasm with which he's now fucking Jackson's face is any indication. You may bring off two or three high-ranking officers tonight without even touching them." He brought his mouth down to her ear. "Maybe some of them'll want to sample you themselves as the night goes on. Would you like that?" She sucked in a breath at the thought. He chuckled. "It's not a bad idea. A taste of someone more cruel and less intelligent than me might help you better appreciate how good you have it right now."

He laughed again when she shook her head; he was observant enough to know that the twitch of her hips and spurt of wetness at his words meant more than her protests.

"Come for me, then, and I may keep you to myself for now."

He had trained her well. She was close, but it wasn't enough yet, even knowing there were hungry eyes on her and likely more than a few hands working inside open dress uniforms. She tried to grind back against Caldwell for the rest of the stimulation she needed.

"You want something?" he asked, definitely sounding breathless now as he continued to push into her. The twist he gave to his next thrust so his trousers rubbed against her ass proved that he knew exactly what she wanted.

She set her jaw, then said it. "Please."

"Please what?"

She took a deep breath. "Please put your fingers in my ass to help me come. Colonel."

"Good girl," he said.

But Caldwell only had two hands, and one was already on her clit. He paused his thrusting, lowered her leg, and commanded, "Hands down. Bend over."

She obeyed, bending at the waist—he slipped in deeper with the new position—and letting her arms hang in front of her. She wasn't sure whether he wanted her to put her palms to the floor, but he only held her to him with an arm across her hips and said, "Walk with me."

Somehow, they moved to the wall without Caldwell slipping out of her. When they got there, he said, "Hands on the wall. Spread your legs."

She got into position and he wasted no time starting back up, thrusting harder now that he didn't have to keep both of them balanced. She had to lock her arms to keep from getting shoved face-first into the soundproofing tiles.

Then he rubbed a finger around her asshole, teasing, until she caved and said, "Please," again, and he slid it up into her. She focused on the pressure of that finger inside her, the pressure of her own muscles squeezing tight to keep him in or push him out, an intense counterpoint to the slippery thrusts of his cock, and when he put his other hand back on her clit, she squirmed and spread her legs a little wider and felt the eyes on her, and—yes—_there_—came with a shudder and a moan.

When she was done, Caldwell took his hands away to grip her by the waist, and he shoved into her hard enough that she really had to work to brace herself, until finally he, too, came, groaning and leaning into her.

"Well done," he panted, and kissed the back of her neck. And then, as if she were a child, "Now, what do you say?"

Elizabeth snuck a glance over to the dining area, where Richard Woolsey was watching them with wide eyes and a hand hidden under the tablecloth; he grabbed his wine glass and took a long drink when he noticed he'd been caught. She arched her back, feeling pleasantly sore and well-used, still with a prickle of shame for being naked and dripping under Caldwell's hands before a crowd, and let her head hang while Caldwell moved his lips over her. And she said, "Thank you."


End file.
